


New And A Bit Alarming

by whereismygarden



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle wonders if there's something wrong with her for desiring the Dark One when everyone calls him a beast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New And A Bit Alarming

Belle had a problem, caught somewhere between her head and her gut and her loins. Her heart might have been involved too, but in a shaky, new, fluttery way that was easy to dismiss.

                Her problem was her master, who had pricked something within her that was used to being left undisturbed. At home, she’d been her father’s only child, interested in reading, interesting in the smithing and tinkering he’d had to give up when he became leader of their town. Her engagement hadn’t interested her, beyond a vague feeling of friendship towards Gaston and a suppressed worry about what the far-off wedding night would hold. She had been glad to give up _that_ fear when she came with Rumpelstiltskin.

                She’d talked with the women of the castle, the girls her age who sighed over the knights, she’d listened to whispered dirty stories and tried to avoid thinking overmuch about it, when _her_ future husband had been picked for her. Lust had been a little thing, then.

                The first time she’d caught herself staring at the line of skin at his collarbone and wondering what it would feel like under her fingers, she’d brushed it off and gone on fussing with the tea things, wondering at the heat that rushed to her face. She hadn’t blushed so since she was a girl of fourteen, watching the knights train from her window with her friend, both of them giggling, and Lenora trying out some words she’d learned from her older sister.

                His hands brushed hers, sometimes, when she handed him things, or he her, and on one such occasion, she felt her skin prickle and tighten under the roughness of his fingertips. A moment after that, she’d had to hurry from the room, flustered at the thought of what it would feel like to have his hands elsewhere, on bare skin, where no one had ever touched her. It would feel good, she was certain, and suddenly all the knowing glances women made, all the silly exclamations of Lenora when they were both closer to eighteen, made sense.

                Lust was wanting to touch: not just admiring the view, but _desiring_. Gaston had been handsome enough, she had thought in a dispassionate way, but now she understood the deeper, burning feeling that people spoke about.

                She _wanted_ Rumpelstiltskin, burned for him, and suddenly, her frantic imagination, usually occupied with books, language and history and natural philosophy, was consumed with him. What would it be like to kiss his mouth, put her hands on his legs and chest, pull off the layers he wore and leave him stripped to his scaly skin? Thoughts of how it would feel to have his clever spinner’s hands pluck at the ties of her clothes, run over her bare skin, kept her awake in her newly lonely bed.

                _Beast_ , they had called him when he had stalked into their crumbling castle. _Monster_ , people said through every land. And her skin tingled at his approach, her hands itched to touch him, her body ached to welcome him. She wanted him to bring her into his bedroom and mount her, put himself between her legs and show her the end of her longing.

                Maybe it was good she was here, all but alone, because Lenora would look horrified at her admission of such thoughts. Her father would be disgusted; he had more or less welcomed her betrothal to Gaston, and had spoken occasionally of grandchildren. Rumpelstiltskin had a man’s face beneath his scales, but maybe he was a monster. He was older than many of his books, an immortal surrounded with dark magic.

                People didn’t speak of him as a sorcerer, though, but as an animal. Something low, though she’d spoken enough with him to find his mind quicker than most. As if he were dirty, when she slaved over his laundry and noticed that he smelled only of leather, evergreens, and some deep scent of his own, which made her mouth water when his presence didn’t leave it dry. _Beast. Monster._ Maybe there was something wrong with her, since her lust had attached to him—him, with his cruel words and the armor that started at his skin, and that he only added to with dragon leather and soft silk.

                So she wondered, and studied him, and found only that she wanted to bring her hands through his curled hair, and that the thought of him filling her mouth with his tongue made her weak-kneed instead of disgusted.

                For all her desire, though, she had no idea about his: he always looked a little surprised when she smiled shyly at him and told him her plans for the day. It startled him when she pressed her hands to his, but she was sure it was from long years of solitude rather than any heat of his own.

                Still, she reasoned that his loneliness might extend to other matters, and that he might not reject her outright. But she did not approach him: he was her master, always about some mysterious work if not sitting at his wheel, spinning away the black moods that gripped him often. She was a maiden, more girl than woman, whose knowledge came from a few frank talks with the women of the castle and books.

                Ladies did not offer to spread their legs for _beasts_. So she dusted, brewed tea, made the beds, cooked, and did the laundry. And if she sometimes buried her face in his discarded clothes before she washed them, trying to savor his scent, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that when she tried her fumbling hand between her legs and rubbed herself into panting, it was him she thought about, behind her locked door.

                One day, she decided that if Rumpelstiltskin spoke like a man, ate like a man, and walked like a man, then he was a man, and she was a woman. Women went to bed with men every day. So she summoned a different kind of bravery than she’d needed the day she came here and walked up to him while he was spinning.

                “Yes?” he said, a little distractedly, not ceasing his slow turn of the wheel. She wet her lips and tried to meet his eyes.

                “Rumpelstiltskin, will you—take me?” He looked up and frowned, and Belle’s heart thudded loudly in her ears, and her hands dampened with sweat.

                “Eh? Where?” He looked confusedly at her, and she would have laughed, had it not taken a good month of worrying and deciding to reach this decision. And if she walked away now, it would take another two before she would be able to ask again.

                “I mean,” she looked away from his questioning gaze, somewhere at the wall, feeling her cheeks turn red, “will you bed me?” The wheel stilled completely, and she flicked her eyes to him for a second. His mouth was very slightly parted, eyes wide and surprised.

                “Why?” His response was not what she had expected: a ‘yes’ or disgusted ‘no’ would make sense. She reached out and touched the exposed skin of his collarbone, smiling at the slight, pebbled roughness she felt, and wet her lips again.

                “I want you,” she said. He shook his head, not meeting her eyes.

                “Belle, you don’t. You’re just young, and lonely.” She jerked at that, glaring.

                “I’m not! I know what I want, and I want you.” He narrowed his eyes and took her wrist carefully, curling his fingers over her veins. She couldn’t stop the little hitch in her breath at his touch, and some of the heat of desire broke through the haze of adrenaline.

                “You want to fuck a monster?” he said quietly, still shaking his head. She took his face between her hands.

                “You’re not a monster. And yes, I do. If you don’t want me, don’t have me. But don’t reject me because you think I can’t want _you_.” He laughed, softly.

                “Belle, do you know yourself? I couldn’t not want you. Your face, your body, your mind: everything about you pulls me in.” His voice was lower than usual, rougher, and Belle shivered at it, and at the feeling of his hands sliding up her back. His compliments left her with a fluttering in her stomach as well as the fire between her legs. “Why do you want me?”

                “I want to feel you,” she said, trying to articulate her desire. “And taste you, and be close to you.” He exhaled raggedly into her hair and then chuckled.

                “If you’re certain,” he said, running a finger down her neck. The edge of his nail caught at her skin, and she gasped.

                “Yes,” she said, because she was: she had spent a whole month worrying about this, if she was twisted or wrong. “I want you to have me.”

                His groan was sweet in her ears, and his arms wrapped tightly around her, pressing her to his body, and she tried to respond in kind, gripping his coat. Never had she been so close to someone not her own blood, and the overwhelming rush of it, combined with the new feeling of his teeth at her throat, made her knees weak. She lifted her hands to his head, pressing against the stiff curls and urging him to keep kissing and biting at her.

                He moved down her throat, leaving little kisses and bites, chasing small gasps from her mouth. Belle used her fist in his hair to drag his face back towards her. He looked a little hunted, his eyes searching hers worriedly.

                “Do you not like that?” he asked, and she smiled.

                “I do. My turn.” She nipped at the underside of his jaw, then went down the column of his throat, relishing the surprisingly soft, bumpy feeling of his skin under her tongue, and he groaned again, gripping her hips with both hands and moving his head to meet hers, kissing her with a clumsy mouth.

                His lips were greedy, stroking over hers, then pulling at them, urging her to open her mouth. The sensation of his tongue on hers was odd, but the burning in her belly only increased as he drew the tip along the roof of her mouth, his lips smiling when she moaned at the feeling. She could feel his desire pressing at her stomach, and pushed her hips against his.

                “Eager?” he asked, smug, moving his right hand from her waist to cover her breast. It scarcely filled his hand, but he seemed pleased to touch it, moving his mouth to press kisses to the edge of her dress, scraping his teeth against her neckline, darting his tongue right between her breasts to lick at the salt collected there. She faltered, unsure of what to do in response, and her brain feeling half-melted, so she settled for pushing his coat off his shoulders and fumbling at his vest. His fingers plucked at the laces in the front of her dress, untying them easily, loosening the bodice, and then tugging her dress up.

                He mean to take it off her, and she let go of him for a moment, aiding him, then blushing as he looked her over with a greedy appreciation, returning his hand to her breast and rubbing his thumbnail against her nipple. It hardened, and Belle felt a surprising wetness gather between her legs at the touch. Her underwear must be getting drenched, and there was only the light blouse and petticoat she’d been wearing left between his hands and her bare skin.

                Mastering her weak legs, she pulled at his vest and shirt, wanting the feeling of his rough-yet-soft skin against hers. He assisted her, somewhat reluctantly, but went still at the light touch of her fingers against his chest. She drew her hands slowly over his chest, his ribs, and belly, resting them at the ties of his trousers, and glanced down at the swell of his manhood. He noticed her gaze and pinched her breast again, making her gasp and look back at him.

                “Still sure you want the monster’s cock, Belle?” he rasped, his eyes darker than usual, looking more like a man’s. She dared cup him as best she could in her hand.

                “I told you, you’re a man, not a monster,” she said, trying to be stern but failing utterly, her breathless, eager voice betraying her. “And I told you to take me.” He grunted at her touch, his hips moving in a way she felt was instinctive, and took her hand off him, divesting her of blouse, petticoat, and underwear with a few rough moves. She stood naked, panting, and his eyes flicked between her bare breasts and the hair-covered place between her thighs.

                “My bedroom, I think,” he said, voice a groan, and then they were standing there, the light considerably dimmer and his bed next to them. The sheets must smell like him, she thought, and noticed that he’d banished his boots to somewhere on the trip, leaving him in only the tight trousers. Then he pulled her close to him, spinning her so her back pressed against his bare chest, his right hand moving over her breasts, and pushed his left between her legs. “Oh, Belle,” he hissed in her ear, tracing a finger lightly through the slick moisture and rubbing, careful of his long nail, against some part of her that throbbed and rejoiced at the touch.

                “R-Rumple…” she couldn’t say his full name, and he pressed her closer, his hardness pressing her buttocks through his trousers, his nails scraping over her tight, exposed nipples and making her squirm more.

                “You’re wet for me,” he whispered, sounding wondering, still rubbing at that sweet place that he’d found amongst her curls: where it had been almost painful to bring her own hand there, his fingers coated in the wetness flowing from her were wonderful. She writhed against his hand, losing focus on his ragged breathing, her world narrowing. Waves of heat built inside of her with every stroke of his hand, and she dimly knew that she was crying out, again and again, and her legs were twitching and failing.

                The waves crested and broke, leaving her supported by his arms, his breath harsh in her ear. Rumpelstiltskin removed his hand and licked off his fingers as Belle steadied herself. The sight of him savoring her fluids made her shiver all over, despite the heavy feeling of satisfaction that made it hard for her to stand upright.

                She sank onto the edge of the bed, onto her back, and he licked his lips, eyes hungry. He bared his ruined teeth in a smile and walked up to her, putting his hands on her thighs and parting them.

                “Does your cunt feel as good as it tastes?” he muttered into her ear, hands fumbling at the ties of his trousers. He moved them onto the bed, not bothering to pull back the covers that she’d straightened that morning, putting his weight over her. “You’re so beautiful, so _fucking_ sweet.” He was distracted, lust making him lose control of his tongue, and Belle felt a rush of pride that she’d done this to him. His eyes were half-closed, and he bit harder at her neck, enough to leave marks. His hands moved restlessly from her breasts to her hips, as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch.

                Belle was content to trace circles lazily over his shoulders, tickling him with feather-light touches, though the lust burning in her bones was kindling again, after such a short respite. The light in the room collected on his scaled shoulders, revealing gold hints in his greyish skin, and Belle watched the shine move with his muscles, entranced. Then one of his hands left her body and he shifted, his shaft pressing at her opening. She closed her eyes, expecting some pain, but he had coated his cock with her liquid, and slid in smoothly, if not easily. The pain was sharp but quick, and then she was overwhelmed by the feeling of being filled with him, of holding him inside her.

                “ _Fuck_ ,” he gasped, and drew out and pushed in again, reaching something inside her that sent fire through her core. She moaned again, tightening her hands on his shoulders.

                “That feels _good_ ,” she managed to say, and he moaned into her neck, thrusting again, harder, and grabbing her hips. She fisted her hand in his hair, trembling at the sensation of his cock inside her, touching every inner, aching part, pushing her toward another cresting peak.

                Her words dissolved into moans, as Rumpelstiltskin found a rhythm, rough and hard and fast, muttering filthy nonsense into her throat. She rose to meet him, her hips responding without her guidance once more, and they ended up in the center of the bed, her hands running over the rougher skin of his back, and his on her hips.

                The shuddering heat came in waves again, and her moans grew louder, her hands scratching at his back. Rumpelstiltskin pounded harder, and her toes curled as she edged closer.

                “Tell me when you come, Belle,” he gritted out. “I want you to look me in the eyes when my cock makes you come.” He returned his fingers to the sensitive place above where he disappeared into her, rubbing against her. The pleasure from without and within, both, made the wave break over her again, and she screamed, legs trembling hard, Rumpelstiltskin pausing to watch her shatter.

                “Beautiful,” he said, and with another few, short thrusts, he finished as well, the claw-like nails on his left hand digging into her hip with his release. He collapsed on top of her, one hand buried in her hair, the other falling limp. She rubbed his back, tired out and almost willing to fall asleep in his bed, his softened cock still inside her and his hands on her. He pulled out, very slowly, and blinked his odd eyes at her, some unreadable expression in his eyes. She ran her finger along the gouges she’d made in the pebbled skin of his back, not letting go of him.

                Ladies didn’t go to bed with monsters, but she was just a housemaid, and he was just a spinner. 

**Author's Note:**

> So the title comes from a line in the song from the Disney movie, when they're walking around in the snow being cute.


End file.
